The Dreamkeeper
by ILoveYouDearly
Summary: A mysterious mutant named Dreamkeeper's unique powers may have the ability to unlock the one thing from Logan that Charles Xavier could not: his forgotten past - the source of his current inner turmoil. LoganXOC Full Summary Inside!
1. Full Summary

Lost within the turbulence of his emotions and the void he feels inside, Logan is more dangerous now than he ever was before. When given an ultimatum by the Professor, Logan will have to choose: his pride and solitude, or the alliance between himself and the X-Men as well as the only place he can call home.

But choosing isn't easy when the ultimatum is to accept help from a mysterious mutant named Dreamkeeper, whose unique powers may have the ability to unlock the one thing from Logan that Charles Xavier could not: his forgotten past - the source of his current inner turmoil.

And perhaps, even have the power to unlock the iron around Wolverine's heart.

Told from Logan and the Dreamkeeper's - Danica Summers - absolutely different points of view, a story of hardship, heartache, and unexpected love will unfold.

LoganXOC

**Author's Note:**

The build between Logan and the OC will be slow, but worth it.


	2. Lost

**Author's Note**: Oh, Logan. You're a BLAST to write. 3 (This is ALSO posted on my Quizilla account, as well!)  
The build in the romance between Logan and the OC is going to be EXTREMELY slow. But trust me, it'll be worth the wait. I have a lot planned for this story. I NEED FEEDBACK. Do you enjoy it? Or no?

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own, or claim to own, X-Men the comic or movies. This is non-profit and just for fun.

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The Dreamkeeper 

01;Lost

This story is rated **young-adult **for language.

_"She will _**save**_ you, Logan." _

Usually, Wolverine didn't mind Professor's booming voice in his head but, there was just something about it today that annoyed the living shit out of him. It made him want to get violent - more specifically, it made him want to find that conceited as fuck Cyclops and punch him in his bastard face.

_Oh lord_, the chuckle came from low in his throat, he could see that shit **now**. He'd go waltz his metal-boned ass to the mahogany bedroom door that Scott so meticulously kept free of scratches and knock real nice on it. And when that pansy-ass opened the door and expected to see one of the other teachers - maybe Storm, or Beast - Logan would give him his best, dazzling smile and sucker punch the nosy as hell jerk right into the opposite wall. Then, before trotting away with his head held high, he'd make it a point to fuck up that pretty door of his. You know, just for good measure.

A smirk perked-up the monotone look on Logan's face - unprovoked asswhoppin's and vandalism were just a **few **of the Wolverine's specialties now-a-days.

"_I fear your sudden lack of empathy and control is going to lead you to be worse off than you were before I met you." _

The scruffy brunette sucked his teeth before raising the cigar perched between his right fore and middle finger to his mouth. Well, _shit_. The Professor was certainly taking a leap with that little tidbit, wasn't he? Wolverine took a deep, shaky drag off of his cigar. You know, considering that Logan couldn't remember _a near damn thing _before that bald little man had come rolling into his life. He dared to say that things might have been just dandy prior to the Professor coming and whisking him away to the X-Men like he was some damsel in fucking distress.

Oh, his blood was boiling. It was so much easier to get so angry over such _stupid_ shit lately. Logan felt like he could rip himself out of his skin. How simple it would be to push his bizarre as hell metal skeleton out of his body. Maybe, then he'd be free of his accursed healing bullshit. Maybe then he'd finally find out who he fuck he was before only dog-tags had the ability to tell a story.

"Professor," he said aloud, despite knowing quite well he didn't need to. "While I appreciate all the offers and your voice in head, I'd also appreciate it if you'd kindly take out a dictionary, look up the words, "Hell" and "No" and put them together."

There was an exasperated sigh that echoed throughout Logan's metal skull.

"_Logan…_"

"Don't 'Logan' me," he spit back, his words holding a bit more bite and old-world drawl than he intended. Wincing at the feel of the Professors imposed dissatisfaction, Logan gritted through his teeth after removing his cigar from his lips and putting it out on the plastic dashboard of his truck. "Sorry, Professor. But what'cha have to understand is that I ain't letting no random broad anywhere _near_ my brain. It's screwed enough."

Hell, the Professor knew that better than anyone, maybe even the Wolverine himself. But that didn't stop the old man from beating the inside of his head.

"_Her ability is outstanding, Logan. I have never seen anything like it. You know that I would not approach you about the subject of your memories with such fervor if I did not believe wholeheartedly that there would be no success in aiding you. But, I see _**great**_ things coming from this. She could very well give you the answers I have not been able to._"

Logan sincerely doubted that.

He had battled against a few nasty mofo's in his day, chicks and dicks with abilities that he had thought would be the end of their kind as he knew it. But, Charles Xavier had always been able to take them down with his psychic mind, with or without the aid of Wolverine and his colleagues' brut strength. His ability was irrefutable and unable to be contended with. If Charles couldn't do it, you could bet your life on the odds that no one else could.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since Professor X had first tried to delve into his mind, but he was pretty sure there had been at least 56 attempts to recover the lodged memories Logan so internally desired to recall since then. Every _single_ time he'd come out of session breathing hard with claws retracted, a look of monotone disappointment had played on Charles' face as he removed his hands from Wolverine's temples with a defeated sigh.

And every _single_ time he had seen that look on the Professor's face, heard that familiar exhale of air, he had become increasingly numb to the yapping desire of self-discovery that nipped painfully at his throat.

But, of course, that all changed when Scott opened his big-ass flabby mouth and turned Logan's life upside-fucking-down.

You see, before Cyclops had approached him after a class in the Danger Room with first level kids six or seven months back, Logan had actually found himself completely anesthetized to the back-of-mind yearning that only screamed at him in his dreams. There was no familiar pang of wonder in his chest when he felt his dog tags pitch against his skin when he put on the X-suit. There was no heart-wrenching sadness when he saw families out together in town, hand in hand, smiling 'cause they knew they belonged somewhere. There was nothing but instinct and a strange, father-like fondness for the kids in the mansion that kept him grounded.

But Scott, him and his damn do-goodie and kiss up the Professors ass _plans_, had ripped from Wolverine of the only thing held dear - his immunity to feeling. He had tore it from him like a band aid from broken skin, leaving him stinging and screaming inside.

It's not that Logan was unaccustomed to pain. It was actually the only thing that he could admit to knowing so well he could call it a friend. However, something had changed about it now, the black and beady eyes of hurt had changed color, shaded crimson in places he never knew could fade to such a pronounced pigment. It brought out such ferocity in him, a side of him he had once only allowed to slip into his body and mind in the heat of battle.

But now, he was incapable of controlling it. His sudden, loud, and quite terrifying outbursts had been one of the reasons why Logan was now sitting in the cabin of his old pick-up some thousand odd miles away from the mansion. He'd been exiled from the only place he'd been able to come home.

Fuck, Scott should'a been the one kicked out for opening this damn can of worms inside of his chest. Wolverine, he'd been just fine before that sissy bitch had gone all noble on him, suggesting things that made Logan think, using his damn laser-eyes to cut holes as big as crop circles in his skin.

But no, here the brunette was again, with nothing but the clothes on his back, a stolen truck, and the Canadian snow to keep him company.

Logan watched the skyline with only a mild-interest, finding fading pinks and blues not as admirable as usual. Perhaps it was because of the dirt on the outside of his old pick-up's windshield, or maybe the Wolverine's eyes had just changed. He didn't know, he didn't really care either. His blood was boiling again and that distracted him from thinking about anything logically, much less philosophically.

It seemed too hot in the cabin. The ice that frosted the windows and the crevices in the doors and the fogginess of the glass suggested it should be anything but. Still, Logan felt himself shrugging off his leather and lulling back against the worn vinyl seat, fingers laced behind his head. He didn't know how long he'd been cooped up in here, motionless aside from the occasional verbal outburst in response to Charles' probing voice in his head, but it had probably been at least 12 hours. His stomach rumbled and demanded nourishment aside from the putrid smoke of his cigars but Wolverine was far too angry to even notice it. His chest heaved upward as he forced a breath up through his nose, expelling it shakily through his mouth as he closed his eyes.

He searched for it, for the once flowering seed of numbness that had resided just next to his heart. However, no matter how many times he mentally grasped for it, for the familiar smooth warmth of his internal defense mechanism he just couldn't find it. His hand only felt emptiness. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, reaching out again, trying to will it back into existence, to fill that void within him. But, there was nothing, every attempt was made in vain.

"Fuck!" he hissed, suddenly shooting forward, fists flying out from behind his head and landing heavily on the steering wheel of the truck with a loud BANG. He tried to inspect the metal for dents, cursing again, but found his vision of swimming with Technicolor sparkles and fading blurriness that left him half-blind.

Dizzy and confused, Wolverine brought the heels of his palms to his eyes after closing them again in an attempt to keep from slumping over in his seat.

He felt it then. And, oh _fuck _no. He was **not** fucking -

Logan snarled, it sounding purely animalistic in pitch, and threw his hands away from his face as though what he had found was burning him. His fingers went to the steering wheel again, gripping either side so hard his knuckles turned white. He leaned down, gently placing his forehead against the top of the wheel, forcing himself to focus.

"_Sometimes, your emotions are so strong that they cannot be released in any other way,_" Charles' voice was in his head again, low but proud, as though he had been waiting for this. "_I urge you, allow Danica to help you, Logan. Come back to the mansion._"

The brunette let the breath that he had been holding come out as a loud groan; straightening his shoulders he kept his hands steady on the wheel, feeling the metal beneath his knuckles creak.

"I need," he hissed, sniffling loudly, "a fucking beer."

"_Logan_-" the Charles began again, seemingly unable to be deterred.

"No, Professor. I don't care what the _hell _this chick can do, what powers she's got, or none of that. Fact is, is I ain't letting some voodoo, Jedi mind-trick girl near my head, **especially** if she's related to that damn Cyclops." Oh, that name put such a bad taste in his mouth he wished he could spit that shit out. "And while I'm usually inclined to trust your judgment, Charles, I think you got a bit too much faith in this girl. _You_ couldn't even figure out where the hell my memories went. There's a better chance of Magneto fallin' down on his knees and kissing my feet than this girl recovering my past."

There was a stagnant silence in the air that hung so closely around Wolverine in the moments after his heated refusal that he actually shifted his weight in his seat, dropping his hands into his lap nervously. He couldn't feel Charles at all. And quite frankly, that was more unnerving than having the psychic impose _any_ emotion within him.

Moments turned to minutes.

Still, Logan waited, half unable to breathe from the tension. He had very rarely gone against the Professor's judgment, never truly feeling the need to. But this - this _ridiculous_ suggestion - and Wolverine's unbalanced and skittish mind had brought him to this out right rebuttal of what Charles was offering him. But, the Professor just didn't _understand_. He was beyond saving. He was beyond any trick or ploy or power that would unravel the mystery of his past. It was **hopeless**.

Logan was incapable of verbalizing this, however, when the Professor's voice suddenly boomed in his head.

"_I will not beg, Wolverine. You have been a dear friend and fabulous X-Men, but I will not tolerate the chaotic violence of your current disposition in my household with my students. You are too dangerous. If you refuse treatment with Miss. Summers, you are _**not**_ ever welcome back into my institute. As always, the choice will be yours. But I certainly hope you come to grips with the severity of the situation before you do something irrevocable. I will not be able to save you then." _

And suddenly, the tension that had encompassed the thick air in the truck was gone.

As was the only alliance Logan could ever recall making.

"_**What the fuck just happened**_?"

He inquired it to the air, struck by disbelief.

The air did not offer an explanation.

He was out of the truck in three seconds flat, pushing through the iced-over door with absolute no struggle what so ever. When Wolverine was angry and hurt like this, nothing was an obstacle he couldn't take the fuck down.

He landed in boots first into a foot of snow.

The brunette's first instinct was to get the hell back in his truck, where the wind didn't blow so hard and he certainly wasn't covered in this white, fluffy shit kids loved so damn much. But, he had to move, he had to do _something _to distract himself from this big fucking mess he'd made, to move himself out of his thoughts and back into his body, where only instinct mattered.

He reached back into the cabin, grabbing his leather jacket and pulling it on over his shaking arms. Despite the fact it was probably somewhere below twenty degrees, he wasn't shivering from the cold. Oh no. He was so damn angry he couldn't help but tremble.

He was so pissed off, at himself for fucking up the only good thing he had, at the Professor for giving him that ultimatum, at that fucking douche Cyclops for bringing this whole damn thing into light, and especially at that girl, Danica or whatever the hell her name was, who fucking _existed. _

He patted his belly, feeling for the familiar outline of his trusty ole Cubans in his pocket. Quickly, he reached into the left side and pulled one out with his lighter. He put it in his mouth, squinted against the cold Canadian gust, add surveyed the out-in-the-middle-of-bum-fuck-no-where road he had taken some hours ago. There was nothing but trees surrounding him, a sharp drop on either side of the cracked pavement of the street that was covered with snow. There was no way he'd make the pick-up outta here. It was jacked up, but the tires were old and wouldn't make it through the layover of white stuff.

He could wait here, until maybe somebody with a tow or plow could get him outta here. But, Logan had _always _been a man of action.

Pain hit him squarely in the chest, like a well-placed and powerful punch to his breastbone. He almost fell over from the sheer force of it, but was reminded by the whistling of the wind that he was the only person here. That attack had been purely imaginary.

Still, he felt his skin crawl, his senses sharpen and his eyes narrow angrily. Wolverine was consumed by predatory overdrive. All he needed to do now was _survive_.

He moved forward, back in the opposite direction his abandoned kick-up was facing, moving through the snow that came up to his knees with ease that looked completely unnatural.

For now, all Logan had to do was survive.

Fuck the professor, fuck Scott, fuck that stupid Dreamkeeper or whatever the fuck her stupid mutant name was.

**He** was all he needed.


End file.
